It's 8 am and I'm watching the city wake up. Joggers go by, drunk foreigners, with beers from the night before stumble by. I'm reading, looking up occasionally at the crowd.
Then, when my eyes are in my book, I hear two just two heralding "clip-clop" footsteps, like taps of a fork on a champagne glass, and there's a big man in dressy clothes and a vest sitting next to me. I smile, but don't look up. There's other benches open; he's sitting right next to me. Our legs are touching. After a few moments, three hurried English phrases come out. "Hello. Thank you. Glad to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too."
He offers me a cigarette and I decline. He lights his own and smoke and ash are blown onto my shirt and book. There's no one at any of the other benches. I ignore it. He laughs at a group of people walking by and I think they're his friends. But they don't notice him, and he stays seated. Eventually he says "What's this?" in Korean and points to the word "precious" in my book. I tell him how to say it and he writes it in the air with his finger while looking up.
A few minutes later he says "Thank you" again and walks away. As he's walking he lets out the same loud laugh he did before.
I put away my book and start writing.
Later, another man comes up to me. He asks me where I'm from in Korean and I tell him. He shows me pictures of his wife, and his son. He says how beautiful his wife is, and then skips quickly past a photo of his son. He shows me a picture of his house and says, in English, "in the country."
We exchange the same standard Korean small talk: how long I've been in Korea, how old I am, how long I'll be here, where I live, if I have a girlfriend. He says that he sometimes comes to Seoul because he owns a hotel there, in Itaewon. I tell him, in Korean, that there are many foreigners there, and he laughed nervously.
He tells me he's in the hotel behind us and I guess he's up before the rest of the family, his businessman body clock making him get up before everyone else.
After awhile of us both looking at the sea, thinking about different things, he gets a phone call. "My wife..." he says, and I smile and nod before I realize that he's still thinking of the rest of the sentence. He starts, then stops saying something a few times, looking with a tense face over the ocean.
"Special day" he says finally. "My wife special day." He says a few words in Korean that I don't understand. He looks a little troubled. "You. My wife. Special Day." And points at the hotel.
I realize I'm being invited to something. I've been invited by Koreans to some events just because they're friendly and welcome foreigners, but this time it seems a little strange. it seems like something personal and I don't want to intrude. I try to think of a way to tactfully decline. I put on a slightly confused expression so that he either explains more or gives up on me.
"My wife very young. Not me. My wife thirty five. Young."
Then I realize. My heart starts beating a little faster now that I understand.
"I want for my wife." He bites his lower lip nervously. "You."
"I want...present." I still wear a blank expression, waiting to hear more. As I wait and listen, I start to consider it. My heart is pounding. I hope he doesn't notice.
"I'm the present?" I ask. He nods and bites his lip, clenches his face, and smiles nervously.
"Nobody know. You foreigner. Korean-" and then he put his fingers around his eyes like binoculars. "But you, no."
I think of the experience. I've never done anything like it. It's 8:30 in Busan, I'm here alone, and nobody will know if I don't want them to. I haven't had many chances like this before. Eventually, his wife calls again.
"Come. Just 'chingu aksu'" he says while doing a handshake motion. He's saying what I'm thinking, "Just come up and meet, see what you think." So I do.
I pick up my bag and follow him. He scurries ahead of me on our way to the hotel; he quickly presses the close-door button in the elevator button in the elevator. We go to the executive floor. His room is the first one. We go in. I don't immediately see his wife, but when I do, she looks like a mom. Certainly older than me, but younger than him, thin, tall, dressed maturely. They start talking in Korean and I only understand a little. Suddenly he throws her on the bed and lifts up her dress, but she puts it down, squeals, and gets up. Settled down again, they talk more, with him only translating a little. I try to pick out parts of the conversation and hear "friend" from him and "what kind of friend?" from her. I only wanted to do this if they both wanted to.
At one point he grabs her and pulls her into me, moving our hands and arms into an embrace as we both nervously try to resist. They talk more after settling down again. I think she's saying she wants to have a meal. I don't know if she means with me or if she's just hungry. I'd like to get to know her better, she seems nice. I can't decide if she's just nervous, and feels strange, but really wants to do it, or if she actually doesn't want to. Again we're pulled together by him; this time I try to keep my hand away as he pulls it to her breast. After settling down again, I'm told that the family's coming soon. I try to go but he's blocking the door and pushes me back inside. They're talking again and he asks me, "Hagwon teacher?"
"No," I say in Korean, "middle school teacher."
She laughs, touches my arm and covers her face. She can't believe it. "And he speaks Korean?" she says. "A little," I say. She laughs incredulously again, covering her mouth falling back on the bed shocked. She's really nice, I think. Then she talks to me in English.
"Crazy" she says, pointing at her husband. He decides there's no time. We should meet at the hotel he owns near Itaewon sometime. I nervously stall and ask questions, trying to decide if I want to give him my phone number and agree to a second meeting. Again I decide I don't get many chances like this, and put my number into his phone. He seems glad. He roughly pulls my backpack, still strapped to me, towards him, and thrusts a package of blueberries inside as a present. "Thank you," he says. "Sorry," she says.
And finally I can go.
I walk back down the beach It's 9 o'clock. I see families, old women, joggers.
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